Stone and Sky
by Amhran Comhrac
Summary: You can't erase the crimes of your past, but you don't have to let them decide your future.  Everyone says the casteless are nothing but worthless criminals, everyone says maleficar are pure evil.  Sif Brosca says everyone can go take a swim in some lava.
1. Best way to forget your problems

_Note: This is the first chapter of an entirely new fic. It is **not** set in the Apostates of Amaranthine universe.  
Bioware owns Dragon Age. They're so nice for letting us play with their toys!

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**Circle Tower**

Jowan dropped the knife, choking back a shocked cry before the sound could alert anyone to his presence. Shaking the magical flames from his hands he quickly healed the cut and pinched his lips together tightly, expecting a Templar to round the corner at any moment. When only silence greeted him he slowly released the breath he had been holding.

Closing his eyes he leaned back against the wall. Months of preparation: piecing together scraps of information from dozens of books, studying the patterns of the templar guards so he wouldn't be interrupted, making the proper excuses so no one would look for him while he was trying it out… it all worked perfectly.

Now he had the power he needed, the control… now they would _finally_ call him for his Harrowing. It had already made a difference, even before this final experiment. His teachers had been commenting on how much more powerful his spells had seemed lately, how much more precise. They attributed it to how much time he had been spending in the library. They had no idea. That was, of course, his plan all along.

So why did he suddenly feel ill?

With shaking hands he picked up the knife, carefully wiping it on the inside of his robes before tucking it back into his belt.  
_  
I've done it_. He pushed his hair back, taking a deep breath. _No going back_. Even if he went the rest of his years without casting another spell he would always be a maleficar. That was how it worked: simply knowing how was enough to condemn you.

Glancing around to make sure no one was in the passageway, he walked towards the stairs. One thought echoed through his mind, again and again. _Oh Maker, what have I **done?**_

**Dust Town**

Sif shifted from foot to foot, listening to Leske babble on about her sister. "Come on," she finally said. "I asked you not to talk about Rica like that."

He laughed, hitting her shoulder playfully. "Jealous?" he said, raising his eyebrows. "Shameless hussy, you just want the majesty of Leske all to yourself."

Looking down to hide the flush on her cheeks she pretended to be suddenly interested in examining the edge on her dagger. "Funny," Sif managed a moment later, her voice artificially casual. "Last time I saw your _majesty_, the scepter seemed a little _soft_."

"Oh," Leske said, coughing with embarrassment. "I… was kind of hoping you'd forgotten that…" She smirked, briefly enjoying his discomfort. "Look, you know we'd had a _lo__t _to drink that night..." The drinking went without saying. Every time the two of them had too much to drink Leske would put his arm around her, grinning as he asked "well, how about it?" and every time, like an idiot, she said yes.

It was a lot harder to maintain her illusions when he leered at Rica, though.

It was always Rica that got attention, ever since they were little girls. She had the perfect tiny upturned nose and slim waist. She had soft hands, not calloused from years of fighting. Her red hair was long and braided, not just yanked back to keep it from her eyes.

Even though she did burn with jealousy whenever Leske looked past her to Rica, Sif could never blame her sister. She was actually happy not to be the 'pretty' sister. Rica usually came home after meeting some noble scumbag with her mouth pinched tight and eyes dark, locking herself in their tiny bathroom for hours. Those were the days Sif was glad she wasn't so pretty that the carta leader would force her out as a glorified whore instead of just a thug. Killing people, as dirty as it was, still seemed cleaner than pretending to give a shit about some noble who saw you as nothing more than a walking belly.

Not that pretending you _didn't _love the person you were fucking was any more honest than pretending that you _did_. But then Rica was the only one who knew Sif's secret. Whenever she stumbled home from Leske's drunk and disheveled, clothes still more off than on, Rica would hold her tightly and whisper "you can't keep doing this to yourself, sis."

"So who are we beating up today?" Sif finally asked.

**Circle Tower**

_"Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him__._" Jowan shuddered walking by the tower's chapel for reasons that had nothing to do with the summer breeze coming from an open window. Looking down at the straight drop to the rocky cliffs below he peered closely at the jagged rocks of the island edge. His best friend Daylen swore up and down that if you looked close you could see the bones of mages who died jumping to escape, left there to rot. Jowan wasn't quite sure he believed that. It seemed the sort of melodramatic story Daylen would love. While couldn't imagine the templars actually caring enough about a dead mage to collect their bodies, in eighteen years he'd never even heard whispers of anyone _jumping_ to escape. And he'd certainly never met anyone stupid enough to think they would survive the nearly hundred foot straight drop. After all, that was why this window could be opened.

The feminine voice read on. "_They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones._" He had read that the Chant was normally recited over the course of a year, from beginning to end, but something told him that rule didn't hold true in the tower. It seemed barely a week would pass without the Canticle of Transfigurations being shoved into their face. In a fit of self loathing he turned on his heel, taking a seat in the back row. "_They shall find no rest in this world," _the young initiate recited piously, "_or beyond._"  
_  
No rest in this world or beyond._

He sighed, looking around. The priest must have gone to bed for the evening. The only other person in the chapel was the initiate doing the evening readings. She had some of the prettiest red hair he had ever seen and Jowan briefly wondered if it was another of the Chantry's mind games to put initiates into robes that only seemed to accentuate their curves. Not that the female mages' robes were much better, really, but at least other mages weren't untouchable. Somehow their forbidden status made the Chantry robes all the more distracting.

With a start he realized the initiate had gone silent. Jowan looked up and noticed her watching him. Her cheeks colored and she quickly broke eye contact, looking away as her fingertips brushed against her mouth. If he wasn't mistaken he would almost think she was… Jowan shook his head slightly, tempted to laugh. The idea of a Chantry initiate even sparing a second glance for a mage... But no, she was looking at him again and smiling. _That's strange_, he thought. It wasn't that he didn't recognize what had just happened as she glanced away once more, her giggle audible even from where he sat… only that one didn't find themselves the object of an _initiate's_ attention every day. Well, positive attention, at any rate.

Before he could stop himself Jowan smiled at her. "What's your name?"

She giggled again, cheeks turning an even deeper shade of red before answering. "Lily."

**Dust Town**

It had been a long week. Sif and Leske had been sent to take care of a couple carta members that were caught by the guards in the middle of some crime or another. Beraht had never said what and they knew enough not to ask. The idiots told the city guards the crime boss had put them up to it. As though the guards didn't know Beraht had his hand in almost every law broken in Orzammar. As though three quarters of the guards weren't deep in Beraht's pocket. Orzammar's finest told him who had ratted, of course, and he sent two of his more loyal thugs to get rid of the problem. "You know them?" Leske asked as they sat on his floor, bottle between them.

"Yeah," Sif said. "Well, one of them. Hildr and I, we used to be friends."

"Used to?"

Sif shrugged. "Seems kind of shitty to say we still are since I just killed her a couple hours ago." She looked at a splatter of blood on her arm and sighed.

"You ok?" he looked concerned, passing the bottle towards her. Sif took a generous swig.

She laughed. "Am I ever?"

Leske joined her in mirthless laughter. "You and me both, salroka."

Sif leaned against his muscled shoulder, Leske didn't object. He probably thought she was just drunk. "Ever think about leaving?"

"The carta? _Constantly_. I think I might have a real future as a dance instructor."

"No," Sif said, laughing as he raised both arms above his head in a fancy gesture. "Orzammar. Going topside." She moved closer, knowing she was probably pushing her luck. She went to absurd lengths to make sure he never realized she thought of him as anything more than a friend. Leske dropped his arms, letting one settle on her shoulders.

"It's not your fault," he said, interpreting her movement as a sign that she needed reassurance over their last job. "They shouldn't have talked, they knew what would happen." Leske squeezed her shoulder. "It was her or you, you know what Beraht would have done if we let them go."

"I know," Sif said, and it was true. If they refused Beraht would kill them. If they let the two dusters escape to the surface Beraht would kill them. There was no real choice.

"So... topside?" Leske said, changing the subject.

"Kalah says that's where my Da went. Tried to get her to go, she wouldn't leave."

He chuckled. "You're one of the only people I know who still has a mother and you won't even call her that."

She straightened, looking him in the face. "Would _you_?"

Leske sighed. "No," he said after a moment. "She shouldn't treat you like she does. You and your sister both. You keep her drunk ass in mosswine and lichen ale, all she does is sit and bitch." He gave her a pointed glance. "But then, you don't have to put up with her, either. You and Rica can get your own place. Let her see how well she does without the two of you."

"She'd be dead in a week, Leske." She climbed to her feet, Leske's brief mention of Rica pulling her back to sober reality. Her sister would be waiting at home, worrying about her. Every time she was late Rica would pace the floors, wondering if that was the day Sif had finally found someone tougher than she was. If Rica wasn't home yet, well, their mother was probably passed out. Maybe sick again. Wouldn't be the first time. "Should head home," she said, swaying slightly on her feet. "Make sure she passed out on her stomach."

"Already?" Leske looked up at her from where he sat on the floor. He ran his hand up her leg, under the skirt of her armor and over the curve of her hip.

Hating herself, she sat back down. "I guess I can stay for a bit."

"Best way to forget your problems," Leske said with a grin, pale eyes full of lust as he pulled her closer. She sighed as warm, calloused hands yanked at her clothing, exploring the skin underneath. They briefly parted to undo buckles and pull off boots. "No point talking about the surface," Leske said as he tossed one boot and then the other aside. "What would you do? Run a shop? _Farm? _There's no place for people like us up there, either."

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_I probably won't do a lot with this until Apostates of Amaranthine is done, but I figured I could post the first chapter now (for pimping purposes, of course). I really wanted to do a fic with Jowan since I think he's a fascinating character and a lot more complex than most people give him credit for. But... I didn't want to go the usual Jowan/f!Mage route. I wanted to see him out on his own, without that past baggage following him everywhere. And then it came to... well, what origin would even give a blood mage the time of day? Since really, it seems like the mage Warden only would by virtue of their existing relationship. And then I realized... who is the least likely to know much about magic, understand Chantry regulations, and actually care even if someone explained it to them? So I finally have gave me a chance to explore the casteless dwarf origin, which is probably my favorite origin in the game outside of the mages.  
I'd love to know what you think so far! Thanks for reading and reviewing!_


	2. You were born nervous

**Dust Town**

"How was the… thing?" Sif asked Rica over breakfast.

"The _thing_?" Rica snickered. "It was a _reception_." She tensed at the mocking tone of Rica's laugh, punctuating her amusement with a tug on her ponytail.

"Well how would I know that?" Sif drummed her fingers on the rough and pitted stone tabletop. "You're always going to a reception or a banquet or a ball or something. Sorry for not keeping tabs on your social calendar." She rolled her eyes. "I'm not _stupid_, Rica. I know what a reception is. I just didn't remember what _sort_ of fancy party you were at last night."

"Sorry, sorry," Rica said, hand up. "I know. I'm on edge, I spent half the morning trying to get Mother into the bath."

Sif made a face. "I kinda want to say we should just let her say filthy…"

"You could almost smell her _outside_ the house this time," Rica twisted her face in disgust.

"Like I said, I _kinda_ want to say we should…" Leaning over, she grinned at her older sister. "Next time call me. A bop on the head and she won't put up as much of a fight."

"Sif, that's our _mother!_" Rica looked far more amused than her words would indicate.

"No worse than the old drunk's done to either of us." A crashing noise cut their conversation short, Rica sighing as she walked over to help their mother up off the floor. Sif went for a broom to clean the broken glass and spilled mosswine as best she could.

**Circle Tower**

Daylen laughed. "I'm telling you, tonight's the night," he said before clapping his hands. "_Finally_," no more apprentice robes, no more apprentice dorm… no more tiny apprentice _bed_!"

"You can't know that," Jowan said. "No one gets any warning."

"I know, I know," Daylen was unconcerned. "But I really think it is. _Someone's _being harrowed, I overheard Cullen talking about it. He was worried they would pick him. And the First Enchanter has been awfully nice to me today." Jowan raised an eyebrow but kept his mouth shut. That he would be nice because the apprentice might potentially be _dead_ tomorrow was something best kept out of mind. "Wow, thanks for the good wishes," he added, rolling his eyes.

"Sorry," Jowan said. "Lost in thought." He had completely stopped all experiments with blood magic, but still found himself fighting the urge to run whenever a templar's gaze lingered on him for more than a moment.

"I'm sure you won't be far behind," Daylen said, misreading Jowan's worry on his face.

"I hope so," Jowan admitted. "I'm starting to get nervous."

"You were _born_ nervous." The apprentice pointed his finger at Jowan, a knowing look on his face. "What _you_ need is a girl."

"What, _another _one?" Jowan said, feigning shock. "Do you even listen when I talk? I told you I met someone _weeks_ ago."

"Believe it when I see it!" was all Daylen said, smirking. "And two girls? Come on now, who do you think you are? Anders? _I_ couldn't even manage that."

"You act like that should surprise me," he replied quickly. "Last I knew the only girl you could get was… hm… what's her name?" Jowan grinned, enjoying himself. "Oh, I suppose I could go look at where it's written on the men's room wall. A highly selective young woman, clearly."

"She's a great girl," Daylen said.

"And only gave you the time of day because Anders was on another vacation!" The two men laughed, the time before evening Chantry services passing far too quickly.

**Dust Town**

While hunting down a merchant behind on his protection money Sif had managed to capture a nug. She and Rica stood in their tiny kitchen, giggling as they attempted to cook it.

"There!" Rica said. "The sauce is done." Sif glanced over and made a face. "What?"

"Is… is it supposed to be _pink?"_

Rica stirred the pot, staring at the contents appraisingly. "Hm… it is a bit pink, isn't it?" Sif put her hand over her mouth, casting eyes away as she bit back a laugh. "Maybe more than a bit."

"It's _bright_ pink," Sif said. She stuck a finger in the pot and licked it clean. "Good, though. Sweet."

"Keep your hands out of there!" Rica waved the spoon threateningly. "They're all grimey!"

"I washed them!" Sif protested, pushing her sister aside and examining the rarely used spit over their fire. "Ohhh, I think it's done!"

"You sure?"

"No." Both women laughed, each ripping a small bit off at once. Rica made a sound of joy, falling against Sif. "That is _so good_," she said. "I can't even remember the last time we had nug!"

"Your birthday," Sif said with a nod. Rica gave her a dubious glance. "Well, not the most recent one!"

Rica glanced around, a grin dancing on the edges of her lips. "Mother's off… looking for work," she whispered.

"You mean drinking."

"Well, that's not what _she_ said, but yes," Rica said. "I don't know why she uses that looking for work excuse. What's she off doing? Noblehunting?" Both girls collapsed into laughter at the thought of their mother attempting to seduce a nobleman. "But… I was hoping she'd stay gone," Rica said, darting away. Sif could hear her rummaging around in their small shared room. Rica returned a moment later, holding a wrapped bundle.

"What's that?"

"I got a little trinket last week," Rica said. "But it wasn't from a noble. Just a really rich merchant. So I sold it." She pulled back the rough white cloth.

Sif gasped, clapping her hands. "Is that…?"

"Surface bread!" Rica announced with a shriek of joy.

As they sat to eat Sif imagined she could hear the table groan under the unfamiliar weight of so much food.

**Circle Tower**

"So no harrowing?" Jowan asked over breakfast.

"It'll come soon enough," Daylen said with a confident nod. "Irving's been—"

Jowan cut him off. "Have you ever wondered if Irving was just messing with you?"

"Why would he do that?"

Sighing, he shook his head. Daylen could be oblivious on occasion. "Because he's kind of a jerk?" Jowan suggested.

"Ah, he's not bad. I do appreciate him keeping my chair warm for me." Jowan just shook his head. He glanced across the room to the Chantry side. It wasn't _called_ that, of course, but decades, maybe centuries of the mages isolating themselves on one side while the priests, sisters, and templars ate on the other had made the name true in practice if not by rule. A quick scan and he saw her, sitting next to the elderly priest. She met his eyes and nodded, blushing slightly.

"I've missed you," Lily whispered when they met in a dusty alcove after the morning prayers.

"Me too," he said. They sat on the floor, voices low and fingers entwined.

"What would you do?" she asked a lapse in conversation. "Well, if you could do what you wanted?"

Jowan shrugged. "Maybe get one of those nice jobs with the nobles?" he said. "Personal mage and healer, something like that. Better than teaching, since it gets you out of the tower."

"No," she said, shaking her head. "I mean, if you weren't a mage, if you could do _anything_?"

Jowan considered that. In truth, it wasn't a very cheerful conversation among mages. It just seemed like a way to torture themselves, dreaming up all the things they would never have. "Maker's breath, I don't know," he finally said. "I don't think about it. No point, really."

"It'll be fun!" she insisted, pressing him.

The truth was, he _had_ thought about it. Thought about it, and never mentioned it again after how Daylan had laughed. But this wasn't Daylan with his dream of becoming the First Enchanter, this was Lily. Lily would never laugh at him. "I… I think I might like to be a farmer," he said quietly. "I like the idea of being outside all day." He glanced around the dusty hallway. "I miss outside."

Lily sighed, taking in his skin which was pale almost to the point of translucence. "Well… maybe not so fun," she admitted. "I'm sorry."

"You didn't make the law," he said. "The Chantry imprisons you just as much as they do me. Besides," Jowan went on, "for all I know I'm prone to sunburns and allergic to dogs. Wouldn't that be a treat, living in Ferelden? I suspect being allergic to dogs may actually be illegal here, if what I've read is any indication. Maybe I should be thanking the Chantry for saving me from treason charges if I sneezed on some Bann's mabari…"

She sighed, wrapping her arms around him. "Let's not talk about _them," _Lily admonished. Jowan nodded as he returned the gesture, running a hand across her back. Looking up, she smiled before kissing him. He groaned as Lily enthusiastically kissed his neck. Fumbling with her heavy wool Chantry robes, Jowan began lifting the hem.

"No," Lily said, pulling back. "We can't." She bit her lip. "I _want_ to," she insisted. "But… but what if I get pregnant? This is already so dangerous for both of us…"

He sighed, trying not to look frustrated, and failing miserably. "There are spells—"

"_No_," she said emphatically. "I won't trust magic for anything so… important." She misread the expression on his face and put a hand to his cheek. "It isn't _you_ I distrust," she said. He didn't reply. Lily was the only person Jowan had met who didn't automatically loathe him for being a mage- beyond other mages, of course. Pressing the issue seemed likely to just scare her away. "You know I love you, even though you're a mage."

_Oh._

He felt a brief pain at those words. It wasn't regardless… it was _despite_. And he could spend days elaborating on the difference. "There are… _other things_ we can do," Lily said. Before Jowan could respond she was on her knees before him, smiling up shyly. His unhappy thoughts were complete forgotten.

**Dust Town**

"So what's the plan today?" Sif yawned, sitting on the stoop with Leske. She was already grumpy after having to listen to Beraht tear into Rica, and hoped whatever they had to do would at least be easy.

"Some lyrium smuggler," he said. "Surfacer."

"What he do?"

Leske shrugged. "Same thing they all do. Tried to take something from the boss. Does it really make any difference?"

Sif shook her head. "Not really, no," she admitted.

The two climbed to their feet, swiftly cutting through dust town. As beggars called out for money both managed to keep their faces expressionless, a skill honed after years of practice. There was a time when Sif's conscience would torment her as old people spoke of hunger or mothers begged for something to feed their children. She'd long since learned that sparing even one copper would send everyone else within hearing towards her. Pushing and shoving as they asked, or even demanded, something for themselves.

It was just as well, she really didn't have anything to spare.

**Circle Tower**

"I have to talk to you!" Jowan fingered the note in his hand, making a face. He had been hoping Lily would help him forget his current depression, but a note like that dropped next to him in the dining hall couldn't be anything _good_.

Daylan hadn't been at breakfast that morning so he couldn't even ask him what the mysterious note might mean. Checking on him after the meal, he found him still asleep in his bunk of the apprentice dorms, right below Jowan's own bed.

Jowan paused before waking him, confused by the scene. If you were sick they made you go to the infirmary where you could be healed. Apprentices weren't _allowed_ to just sleep in. Not unless…

The realization hit him like a slap across the face.

Jowan wanted to be excited for his friend. He had just gone through the most important ritual in any mage's life. He should have congratulated him, shared his happiness.

Instead he found himself crossing his arms sullenly in the face of Daylan's bragging. "I've been here longer than you, and I don't know _when_ they'll call me for mine!"

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_Thanks so much to everyone who commented on the last chapter. I'm really enjoying writing a fic with Jowan, and finally getting a chance to play around with the casteless origin, but I know the pairing is a bit... unorthodox. It's nice to know people enjoyed it and it doesn't seem completely left field._


	3. Everything had gone wrong

**Circle Tower**

Everything had gone wrong. Beyond wrong. Jowan didn't even know if there was a _word_ for how much he had managed to bungle things this time. "_You're scheduled to be made tranquil tonight!"_ Lily had said. Faced with no other choice, he turned to Daylan.

His best friend had refused to help.

That should have been the first sign. _"Are you **insane**_,"his friend had hissed. _"You know what they'll **do** to me if we're caught? I've already been harrowed, so I can't be made tranquil. Guess what that leaves."_ Jowan had pressed, which only led to the inevitable question.

_"They… think I'm a blood mage," _he whispered when asked for the reason the templars were ready to sever his connection to the fade and kill his emotions.

_"And is it true?"_ He had known. He had known before Jowan even asked. Something in Daylan's voice made that more than clear. Jowan denied it, of course, making up some transparent excuse about sneaking around to see Lily. Daylan had only shaken his head, refusing to help.

Jowan should have figured it out when he returned not even an hour later, saying he changed his mind. Staring at the First Enchanter, Knight Commander, and half a dozen templars besides, everything clicked into place.

"You _bastard,_" Jowan shouted. "You set me up!"

"Me!" Dalyan snapped back. "I asked if it was true and you couldn't even _look me in the face_. You would risk my life to save your own ass- when we _both_ know you're guilty!"

"But I'm not!" Jowan insisted.

In retrospect, it wasn't the smartest thing to say. Not considering what came next.

It wasn't his own death sentence that motivated him. It _wasn't_. Jowan tried to find comfort in that, reassuring himself that he had only been trying to protect lily, to save her from Aeonar, that fate worse than death. It was so much harder to convince himself when he remembered the disgust and loathing in her eyes, the way she hissed "keep away from me, _blood mage_."

In the end, although sparing himself hadn't been his goal, that was all Jowan managed to do.

As he fought to swim for the shore her face refused to leave his mind.

Never a strong swimmer, and now sixteen years out of practice, it was starting to seem unlikely he would even make it so far as that. _Good_, Jowan thought, choking on foul tasting lakewater, _maybe drowning will be justice._

**Orzammar**

Everything had gone wrong. Sif couldn't even _pretend_ to be surprised by that, but the scale of their failure this time was near boggling.

"Leske!" she hissed, trying to keep her voice down. "_Leske!"_

He didn't answer. Sighing, she sat down against the stone wall of her cell and wondered if that meant he actually _wasn't_ in the next cell, as she suspected, or something far worse.

_Think, Sif, fucking think!_ Biting her lip, she tried to figure a way out of the mess. It wasn't looking good. Sure, she had good intentions… but Beraht wasn't the sort to normally care about good intentions. Fix a fight, he says. Just drug the other guy, easy as cake.

Until they found the man he hoped to win passed out drunk.

Putting on his armor and fighting herself seemed like such a _good_ idea at the time. How would she have known the ass would wake up and stumble out at her moment of victory?

Of course, she probably should have known that someone would want to see her face if she won.

Out came the guards, and off she went. Sif remembered seeing Leske in the crowd of officials at one point, being dragged along to share whatever fate was waiting for her. Had she been forced to guess, Sif suspected they would be offered a chance to go into the Deep Roads and join the Legion. Impersonating a member of the Warrior caste could get your hands cut off, but really, if Dwarves were anything it was pragmatic. They would want to put her to use.

Death by darkspawn. She couldn't pretend the idea was at all appealing.

Of course, she was wrong about that, _too._

It wasn't guard's cell she had been taken to. Sif and Leske had been delivered to the Carta itself… the very _angry_ Carta.

Getting out of the cells proved easier than expected once she was able to focus on the task: a giggle, a shake of her hips, a few choice comments, and the guard came close enough for her to grab him. Gripping the back of his head, she pulled forward with all her strength, slamming his head into the bars first once, twice, and finally a third time where there was a surprisingly loud crunch. He crumpled to the ground and she was able to fish the key from his pocket. Freeing herself and then Leske, they managed to find their gear in a dirty crate shoved under a table in the corner.

Getting out of the Carta's hideout, however, wasn't nearly as simple. "You know," she said to Leske as they worked their way slowly towards one of the many hidden exits, "I'm kind of sick of killing former friends."

"We should let _them_ kill _us_?" he said.

"Did you see me put my daggers away?" she countered.

**The Bannorn **

Jowan had no idea where he was. It was painfully bright, windy, and loud. From one direction he could hear a dog barking, accompanied by loud laughter. A child, or several children, if he had to guess. From another a carriage was rumbling past. He had no idea Ferelden was such a _loud_ country. He had taken to traveling at night, figuring it would make him less likely to be caught. He didn't _deserve_ freedom at this point, not when Lily was surely rotting in a cell somewhere, but that didn't mean he was about to simply turn himself over to the first templar he saw. That meant a lot of time to do nothing while the sun was up. Nothing but sit and listen to the noise.

Lying in a ditch, he was shielded from anyone who didn't come right to the edge and look down. The grass was dry, a rarity, and smelled sweet. It was… almost nice.

_I don't deserve nice_, Jowan reminded himself, almost wishing for a rock to dig into his back or a nice rainstorm to soak him to the bone. Something to make him suffer, some kind of penance to help remind him there might be justice in the world.

The barking was becoming more insistent, and then cut off completely. _Strange,_ he thought. Well, he assumed it was strange, figuring dogs didn't exactly shut off like a candle. It wasn't as though he had any experience with animals beyond the cats who roamed the tower halls, and the mice they were forever hunting. Listening closer he noticed the children had gone silent as well.

_Must have gone inside_, he mused, watching a cloud drift by.

That was when the screaming began.

Sitting up, he peeked over the top of the ditch, not seeing anything. Realizing they were _children's _screams, he scampered over the edge, nearly falling face-first when his foot got tangled in his robes. Running towards the sound, Jowan found himself on the lawn of a small farm. As he glanced around he located the children, a boy and girl cowering on the roof of the one story house.

Quickly understanding the situation it took all his courage not to turn and run back the way he came. _Children_, he reminded himself. _Defenseless children._ When that didn't stop his hands from shaking he took a deep breath. _Well, dying here might be redemption._

Finally feeling calm, Jowan stood up straight and held out his hands, flames already dancing across his fingertips. "Hey!" he shouted at the four darkspawn who were attempting to scale the walls to reach their prey. They tuned at the sound of his voice. "What? You don't like people who can defend themselves?"

When they advanced towards him he set off a fireball, knocking one over and scorching two others. More spells followed, quicker than he'd ever had reason to cast them before. In the back of his mind, Jowan wondered who it was he could hear laughing over the roar of his spells.

**Orzammar Commons**

_From bad to worse_ was all Sif could think, looking out at the nobles, warriors, and guards. The carta, or whatever of it had been inside the hideout, was dead. _Beraht _was dead. And now everyone who was mad about a brand impersonating a member of the warrior caste was also mad because the kickbacks they had gotten used to were probably gone. She could almost laugh, but someone admitted it to her face. "Beraht had many enemies… but powerful _friends,_" he said, looking at her as though he couldn't quite believe what stood in front of him.

Before she and Leske could be killed, or dragged to the Deep Roads, or whatever they had in mind for them, a tall figure cut through the crowd.

"What's _he_ want," Leske muttered. "We're a show for visitors now, too?"

Sif blinked, trying to place the man. It took her only a few seconds to remember: she had only ever met one human before, after all. If she wasn't so focused on the last few hours, and worried about what would come next, she wouldn't have needed to think about it at all. A Grey Warden, the surfacer order devoted to fighting Darkspawn. He was in Orzammar as a guest, and on a dare she had spoken to him before the proving.

That still didn't explain why he was _here,_ though.

Pushing his way to the front of the crowd, he cast a careful glance at Sif before, of all things, smiling. If she didn't know better she would have said it was the grin of someone who knew he was about to get away with something really, _really, _good.

And, it turned out, she was right.

Chaos erupted as soon as he made his announcement. The nobles and warriors began arguing with him and among themselves; the guards looked like they were planning to kill her on the spot and end the debate. He stood calmly above it all, watching her for a reaction. "You're kidding me," she finally managed. "You want _me_ to be a Grey Warden?"

He nodded, completely serious. "With no formal training you bested everyone in that Proving, men and women who have done nothing _but _train their entire life. That level of talent alone was enough to make up my mind. That you also managed to escape and free yourself only convinced me further."

She looked at Leske. He rolled his eyes. "Sif, why are you still _here? _ Go! This is your chance!"

"I can't…" biting her lip, she stared into his surprised blue eyes. "I can't leave you and Rica," she finally managed, not wanting to tell him even then.

"Oh, I can take care of Rica, don't you worry," Leske said.

She narrowed her eyes. _Why should now be any different?_ Turning back to the human, Rica struggled to make up her mind. "I need to talk to my sister," she said.

The crowd began to stir. "Let me _through_," someone said. Rica could see red hair moving closer, pale white elbows shoving out. "Move it!" One man, who stubbornly refused to step aside, found himself shoved to the ground. "Hey! I said move it!"

"Sodding brand," Sif could hear him mutter as she walked over.

"Rica?" she said.

"I came as soon as I heard the news," she replied, out of breath. The man climbing to his feet began to protest, Sif sneered and he moved back. "Hey, I may not be a great fighter, but I grew up in Dust Town, too, you know," Rica said, smiling slightly.

"I can't leave you," Sif said. "What will you do? I _killed _Beraht."

"I'll be fine," Sif said. "Mother and I both will. I…" she dropped her voice and moved closer, whispering. "The man I met? He wants me to be his mistress. He's moving us into his home."

"Who is it?" Sif asked, curiosity overcoming good sense.

Rica glanced around at the crowd. "You'll see," she whispered. "I can't say here. I'll get someone to help me write you."

"I'll get someone to help me read it," she replied, smiling. "You really think…?"

"Stone, yes," Rica said. "Go! You can be a Grey Warden! Even the _nobles_ respect them!"

"Go," Leske said, walking over. "You said you wanted to see the surface, when will you get another chance."

Sif nodded, hugging her sister tightly. "I'll miss you," she whispered. Then, before her indecision could get the better of it she turned to Leske. His eyes widened with surprise when she kissed him, but after a moment's uncertainty his lips parted and hands reached around her. "Sorry," she whispered a moment later. "I—"

"It's okay," he said, cutting her off. "I kinda figured. Go on, get out of here before the gossips say we were rutting in the streets and we shame the good name of Dust Town."

Turning to the Grey Warden Sif looked up. _Funny,_ she thought briefly, _I always figured humans were taller._ "I'm ready."

* * *

_Wow, it's been a long time since I updated this. That's new-job-craziness for you, I suppose._  
_Thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing!_


	4. Not so different from Dust Town

**The Bannorn**

The darkspawn were dead. Jowan looked at the bodies and fought back waves of nausea. He had never killed anything before, and could only be grateful that it was something so horrible no one would mourn it- that it was a some_thing_ and not a some_one_. The children were slowly making their way down, using a trellis as a ladder. As they did, a woman ran over. Seeing Jowan casting a healing spell on himself, she began to scream.

"Mage!" she shrieked in terror. "What did you do to my children?"

He stared at her blankly, not entirely sure what she was implying. Her children, at that moment, were milling around daring each other to touch the darkspawn. "Nothing!" Jowan finally said when she continued to yell.

She skid to a halt near him, looking past Jowan to the bodies on the ground. "What… what _are_ those?"

Wringing his hands, Jowan glanced around. "Um… I'm pretty sure they're some kind of, um… darkspawn." The last word came out in a near-whisper. He half-expected her to yell at him for that, too.

She sagged, hand to her chest. "Andraste's mercy! _Already?_" Strangely, the sight of the darkspawn seemed to calm her. It almost seemed as though she had _expected_ them, of all things. "Of course," she went on, more to herself. "You must be headed south, to the battle."

_Battle?_ Jowan hadn't heard of any battle. "Um, yes," he said, hoping it wouldn't lead to follow up questions. He tried to look like a man marching off to war. When that failed, mostly due to having no idea how someone in such a position would behave, he just tried not to look nervous.

"Right," she said, actually smiling at him. "What you must think of me. Here you save my children and I come out howling like a banshee. Please, at least let me fix you something to eat. You're skin and bones. Doesn't the Chantry feed you people?"

As if it had ears of its own, his stomach audibly growled at the suggestion, noticeable even over his polite refusals. "Maybe food wouldn't be such a bad idea," Jowan admitted after a moment, blushing slightly.

"No _maybe _about it," she said. "Well, come on. You can make yourself useful and light the stove."

**Gherlen's Pass**

Sif stumbled after the Grey Warden, trying not to look horrified. Shivering, she glanced up once more. "Try not to look right at the sun," he said gently. "You'll hurt your eyes."

"Oh," she said quickly. "Sorry." She darted one more glance upwards, eyes narrowed in suspicion at this now-ominous 'sun.' "Anything else I should know?"

"Nothing comes to mind," he said. "But it's been many years since we've had anyone from Orzammar among our ranks, I'm afraid I may overlook things simply because I've always lived on the surface. I'm sure there will be more as we travel."

"Right," she said. When he saw she was struggling to keep pace with his long strides, the Warden slowed slightly. "You got a real kick out of that, didn't you?" she asked him after they were out of sight of Orzammar and the market near the gates.

"Pardon?"

She laughed. "The guards. I saw the look on your face before you opened your mouth. So, what? You say someone's going to be a Grey Warden and they have to just stuff it?"

He laughed at that; a rich, loud sound. "In essence… yes," he said. "There are ancient treaties in place with every government in Thedas. If we decide to conscript someone there's no legal way to oppose it."

"What if I'd said no?" she asked.

He was quiet for a moment. "As I said, there's no legal way to oppose it."

She darted her eyes up to him. "I could have fought you."

"You would have lost."

Sif snorted. "Says you."

To her surprise, he snorted right back at her. "I was made Warden Commander of Ferelden for a reason, you know," he said. "And trust me when I say I've faced much harsher foes than you." Sif had to admit to herself, he probably had a point there. The weapons on his back and hips were well-made with a shine that could only come from being sharpened on a very regular basis. "I've seen you fight, you're good. _Very_ good, all things considered. We'll make you better."

That didn't sound so bad. "So…" she said. "Um… what's your name?"

He looked over at her in surprise. "Duncan," he said. "I'm sorry, I introduced myself when we spoke briefly before your… adventure at the Proving. I assumed you remembered."

"Sorry," she said. "I've kind of had a lot on my mind."

**Bannorn**

Jowan decided going south was the best plan. That she so easily assumed he was headed there to take part in some battle- presumably against the darkspawn- implied others would believe the same thing. Going south, at least for the time being, could keep people from summoning the templars outright.

It wouldn't do to go too far south, though. Running into any mages and templars who actually _were_ headed to the battle would be... bad.

That evening he tried to formulate a plan as he walked. He couldn't stay in Ferelden, that much was obvious. Even though he had destroyed his phylactery the Templars wouldn't simply shrug and wash their hands of him. He was an escaped mage; even worse, he was an escaped _blood mage_. They would be looking for him in force. The templars who knew him would probably be selected to lead the hunt, and his description would be sent to Chantries across the land.

Tevinter seemed the best option. It was the only place in the known world he wouldn't be considered a criminal, and it was beyond the Chantry's reach. Getting there wouldn't be easy, though. If he went on foot it would involve passing through Orlais. Not only would he stick out as a Fereldan, it was also home to the Chantry. The risk was too much.

The only other alternative was travel by sea. That didn't seem much better. If a Templar boarded he would be completely trapped. And, of a greater immediate concern, he had no idea how much it would cost. Whatever it was would be too much, though, considering he didn't have so much as a copper.

South, though… south, and eventually to Gwaren. He had a vague idea it was in the far east. It was a port city, his history classes said as much. In Gwaren he could get passage to Tevinter and, from there, freedom. Granted, it was a 'freedom' that pulled his stomach into a knot and made him remember a thousand horror stories about the Imerium- slaves, slavers, blood mages fighting in the streets- but he hadn't come so far only to give up and die. If that was his plan he would have just stayed at the tower in the first place so they could behead him quickly.

The idea of seeking out Lily came to him as he walked. She might still be at the tower- there were plenty of cells in the basements, after all. He could… what, sneak in? Rescue her? And not get caught along the way? With a sigh, he realized that was impossible, even if she _was_ still at the tower. If she was in Aeonar, or headed there already… she might as well be dead. No one knew where Aeonar even _was_, outside the highest ranked members of the Chantry. It was said the veil was so thin most mages, even the ones who never touched blood magic, were driven insane or possessed within hours. Even if he _could_ find it, and somehow managed to get past the templars, and somehow managed to not go mad or be driven to possession, and somehow managed to locate Lily, there was another question: would she actually welcome him?

Jowan's shoulders sagged as he realized it was far more likely that Lily, wherever she was, sat loathing him and cursing the day they met, not hoping for a poorly thought out rescue attempt.

**Northern Imperial Highway**

Sif was frustrated. She had been pestering Duncan for weeks to give her more details about the Grey Wardens but he only answered in riddles and excuses. She suspected he was trying to outsmart her.

"I'm not stupid," she finally said.

He glanced over at her, clearly surprised. "I'm sorry, where does this come from? I never said you were."

"There's something you're not telling me," she said. "Something bad." They left Orzammar and visited a surface castle, she had seen Duncan whispering with the man in charge. He had said something about hoping for a recruit, but they left alone.

Duncan was silent for a long time. "There is," he finally admitted. "Although… I suspect it is no worse than what you could have hoped for in Orzammar."

"Well, what is it?" she asked.

"You'll find out when we get to Ostagar," was all he said. She was getting used to hearing that, and sighed audibly making her opinion of waiting quite clear. He looked ready to say something, but only sighed much more quietly than she did, shaking his head. "How do you like your cloak?" Duncan asked after a moment.

Brightening at the change of topic, Sif pulled the heavy fabric around herself. "It's fantastic!" she said. It was, in fact, one of the few _new_ things she had ever owned, after growing up wearing Rica's old clothes- which were themselves often hand-me-downs from neighbors and cousins. The heavy grey wool had helped counter some of the chill that had been following her since leaving Orzammar. Sif had been told a great many things about the surface, but no one ever seemed to see the need to mention how damned _cold_ it was. "It may be the nicest thing I've ever owned. Even my armor is all bits and pieces."

Duncan chuckled. He had, she decided, a warm laugh. He didn't seem to care for the cold any more than she did. "Indeed? I was curious where you managed to get a set of light armor."

"Made it," she said. "It's mostly bronto leather. The bits here were gloves I found once," she gestured, pointing one section out. "This part was a hat. The top was a man's coat. I, ah, borrowed the buckles from a pair of boots I… found." She probably didn't need to tell him she reached into the window of a rich merchant and snatched his wife's fancy high-buckled boots to be dismantled for armor, adding laces to what was left to wear on her own feet.

He raised his eyebrows, looking amused. "Indeed? Very creative."

She beamed at the praise, especially coming from a man whose armor looked like it cost enough to feed all of Dust Town for a year. "It was tough, getting the needle through the thick bits. But easier than sewing myself up after, you know?" She made a face. Sif had been forced to sew up both herself and Leske more than once after joining the Carta. That was what convinced her they needed more protection than their everyday clothes. She had done the same after making their armor as well, obviously- carta work is nothing if not dangerous- but nothing quite so dramatic as those horrifying wounds from their early careers.

Thinking of that, of course, led her thoughts back to Leske. She wondered what he was doing, if they had punished him once she was gone, or let him off the hook since _she_ had been the actual impersonator. She worried if the remains of the Carta were after him. Biting her nails as they walked, Sif wondered vaguely if she would ever see him again.

Duncan cleared his throat. "You may find our next stop interesting," he said, drawing her attention back from her own thoughts. "We're going to the Circle of Magi. The king has asked me to secure more help in the coming battle.

**Lothering**

Jowan had noticed the roads became more crowded the further south he went. Knights and solders, all headed southward. He even saw a large group of men and women with wild paint on their faces, accompanied by enormous barking dogs. Mabari, from the looks of them, the dogs said to be as smart as a person.

"Hey!" one shouted to him. Jowan looked over, confused. "Mage!"

"What… what makes you think I'm a mage?" Jowan asked.

The man rolled his eyes, petting the dog. "Well, the robes are a bit of a giveaway, you know."

Wincing at that, Jowan reminded himself that he needed to find something new to wear. "Right," he said, trying to sound casual and managing a small laugh.

"You're ahead of the pack, we saw the rest of your fellows with their templars a day back."

Keeping his face neutral, Jowan nodded as though there was nothing surprising about that. "Did you need something?"

"Aye," he said. "Can you heal my dog? Got into a bit of a scrape with a wolf a couple days back. She needs to be in top shape for the battle, though."

"Oh, sure," Jowan said, relieved that was it. He cast the spell when the man pointed out where the dog was bit, watching closely to make sure it had healed fully. He had never healed a dog before, after all. Once done, the mabari looked at him with liquid brown eyes and seemed to smile for a moment before licking his face.

"You've made a friend for life there," the dog's owner said with a laugh. "She knows you're the reason she's not hurting now." Thanking Jowan, he waved and continued on his way, catching up to his group quickly.

_Mages. Templars. One day behind._ Jowan glanced back at the road, half-expecting them to cross the horizon at any moment. They didn't, of course, but he decided he had pressed his luck long enough. Leaving the road, he struck out for the east.

While his gut reaction, looking back, was to chalk it up to another flawed decision, he knew that wasn't true. There was no way he could have known _that_ was where the templars would catch up to him.

**Kinloch Hold**

Boats, Sif decided, were a joke the surfacers had invented to mess with dwarves' heads. Walking above ground was bad enough, but plopping yourself into a little wooden bowl and expecting it to carry you _on top of _water? As it shook with every wave and every move of the people inside? It was madness, no other way to describe it.

"Perhaps next time you'll be better staying at the docks," Duncan said, looking at her with pity.

"'m fine," she said, wiping her mouth and pulling herself back from hanging over the edge of the boat.

She felt slightly better once inside. The walls were strong stone, with high ceilings and next to no windows. If she closed her eyes she could almost pretend she was home again. With her eyes open that just wasn't possible. The stares of slender elves and lanky humans, all in identical brightly-colored dresses, made it far too clear she wasn't in Orzammar. Or anything remotely like it.

Following Duncan, she tagged along as a man in heavy armor with a helmet that covered all but his eyes led him through a library. Sif thought the man was trying to look scary. The way he turned to stare at the people in dresses when they passed, and how they darted further away or averted their eyes, made her think whatever he was doing was just lost on her.

Glancing around and trying not to look too ignorant, she caught a young woman with wild dark hair listening carefully to a grey-haired elf. Nodding, the man stepped away and she grinned, raising her hands.

Watching what followed, Sif couldn't stop herself from crying out. "Duncan!" she shouted, after a glance around the room showed no one else seemed to notice or care. Indeed, the grey haired elf was standing calmly watching the whole thing.

"What's wrong?" he said, rushing over to her.

"That girl, no one's helping her!"

He glanced over. "Does she need help?"

Sif looked over at him, narrowing her eyes. Had _everyone_ gone mad? "She's on _fire!_ I'd want some fucking help if _I _was on fire!"

The girl seemed to hear her, since she turned around, shaking her hands. "Did I do it wrong?" she asked the grey-haired man.

"No, no, you were fine," he said.

Duncan leaned over slightly so he could whisper. "Sif, she was casting a spell. The girl is a mage. They all are."

Well, that would explain why the fire was only on her _hands_. Sif suddenly felt incredibly stupid. "Ancestor's tits, I'm an idiot," she mumbled. The girl was still looking at her. Staring, maybe even gawking. "Sorry," she added.

"'s all right," she said with a shrug. "What are you?"

"Huh?" Sif stared at her blankly, not sure what the question implied. She didn't _sound _malicious, and her expression was one of curiosity. She could hear Duncan shift uncomfortably.

"Sif is a Grey Warden recruit. From _Orzammar,_" he said pointedly.

Her eyes went wide. "Really? I've never seen a dwarf before! What's it like?"

"What's being a human like?" Sif replied, hand on her hip.

The girl laughed, actually snorting. "Touché!" she said. "I guess that was dumb." She then proceeded to ask to join the Grey Wardens, only to be swiftly turned down on account of being an 'apprentice,' whatever that was. While Sif wanted to write her off as an especially strange human, several other people asked similar questions of her as they moved through the building. Most just wanted to confirm that she was really a dwarf. One asked if it was true dwarves worshiped rocks. Another made her stand next to a particularly tiny elven woman, laughing so hard he almost fell over when Sif turned out to be ever so slightly taller. She was beginning to wonder if all mages were actually insane.

Duncan seemed frazzled by the entire thing. "Mages come here as children," he said quietly. "They… don't really bother with what most would consider proper manners among themselves, and rarely have contact with outsiders."

It began to make more sense as she sat on a tall chair, listening to Duncan argue with an armored man. One of the men in dresses seemed to be on Duncan's side, he was pushing for more mages to be allowed to go to this big battle, but the armored man didn't seem to care. Listening to them, Sif slowly realized the people in dresses were, in fact, prisoners here. The building felt a little colder once she understood that. No wonder they seemed afraid of the men in armor: they were the guards.

In the end Duncan didn't get his way. Even one young man with pale hair, who he tried to entice into joining him as a Grey Warden, flatly refused. "Join the _Wardens_?" he scoffed. "Not a chance. I want to be First Enchanter, not some… blood covered warrior. Forget that."

"You could have forced him, couldn't you?" Sif asked as they were walking to the guest rooms.

"I could have," he said. "But I'd rather not take people who are that opposed to the idea when I can come back in a month or two for a willing volunteer. That young lady with dark hair will be a full mage soon enough, she _asked_ to join. Someone like that would be much better to have on our side in battle."

Late that night she heard an argument in the hall. Opening the door a crack, Sif listened. _"I don't bloody care," _a woman was saying. _"You're a traitor, Daylen. You worked for the __**templars**__."_ The way she hissed the last word made Sif think the mages were far less content with their lot in life than it had seemed earlier today.

"_He was a blood mage!" _that voice was male, pleading. _"What should I have done? Helped a maleficar escape? That's insane!"_

"_He was your friend! If you would betray your best friend… how can anyone trust you?"_ peeking out, Sif saw the blonde man who had so adamantly refused to join the Grey Wardens arguing with the dark haired girl. _"It's just you and your hand tonight," _she said. Covering her mouth, Sif resisted the urge to laugh. Apparently things weren't that different from Dust Town here.

"_Come on," _he said. _"Don't be like that." _No, not so different from Dust Town at all. It seemed even men who lived in towers and never went outside used the same lines as what she had gotten used to hearing since her teenage years.

"_Well…" _she said, sounding reluctant, _"maybe I can do something…"_ She took his hand in hers, bringing it to her face. A laugh did escape when the girl spit in his palm and shoved him away, hissing "_traitor!_" once more before turning and storming off.

Sif closed her door quickly, before he could see who laughed, and ran back to the bed, giggling all the while.

**Outside Lothering**

The fight, if one could even call it that, was over before it had started. Jowan raised his hands, preparing a spell, only to have it sucked out of him, along with every ounce of energy in his body. He sagged to the ground, knowing he should run and too exhausted to try.

"Will you come peacefully?" the templar asked, pale eyes staring through the slit of his helm. Two other stood next to him, blades drawn.

Jowan sighed in defeat. "I will," he said after a moment. What choice did he have?

They clamped irons on his hands and ankles, with a chain so he could still walk, and began the long hike back to the tower. _Why do they bother with this?_ Jowan mused as he struggled to keep up. _Bring me back so I can be killed immediately? Makes no sense._

He suspected the Chantry liked the idea of mages being paraded across Ferelden in chains. It would be remembered by anyone who witnessed the scene, burning the idea of mages as dangerous criminals into their minds.

_You sound like Anders_, he thought, and then realized how many times the older mage had made this same hike. Fortunately for him, none of his trips had the same ending Jowan expected. Well… so far.

On the third day they came across a group of soldiers fighting off a small band of darkspawn. Jowan stared in frustrated horror as the templars rushed off to help, leaving him bound. He raised his shackled hands, trying to cast a spell at the darkspawn, but couldn't manage anything. A glance down revealed why: lyrium-filled wards carved into the iron.

_Should probably have expected that._

The fight was over quickly, even without his help, and one of the templars asked if he could be 'trusted' to heal someone. Jowan only nodded in response.

"You're a mage?" the soldier asked. Before Jowan could answer, he turned to another of the men. "Didn't the Teyrn say we should be on the lookout for an apostate?"

"That he did," the man said. Before Jowan could respond he nocked an arrow and sent it flying. He smiled in grim satisfaction when it hit the mark- right into the slit of one of the templar's helms.

Not more than an hour later he was on a wagon, along with the lone surviving templar. Both were bound, although this time it was with common rope. The templar was unconscious.

"Where are we going?" Jowan called up to one of the men.

"Denerim," came the reply.

"Why?" he wondered if this was something worse than what had been waiting for him in the Circle.

The man laughed. "Calm down, mage; we just saved your ass. We're taking you to someone who can help you… in exchange for a small favor."

Listening to him, Jowan realized with a jolt of shock that the man was either a highly accomplished liar, or he actually believed every word of what he said. _Help_, Jowan thought with amusement. _That's a nice change of pace._

* * *

_New Leap this weekend, new AOA mid-week, new iPad in one to two weeks according to my order confirmation. Woohoo!  
Thanks for reading and reviewing!__  
_


	5. That would take some getting used to

**Bannorn**

Sif had decided something in her time on the surface. Ferelden was, overall, a very _brown _place. The dirt, the dogs, the houses, even the _clothes_ people wore, seemed to be drawn almost exclusively from every shade of brown available. It was nothing compared to the Commons back in Orzammar, or even the average member of the merchant or noble caste.

It did remind her of Dust Town, though.

She hadn't decided if that was a good thing or a bad thing yet.

"You seem to be much more comfortable with the surface," Duncan commented as they walked.

Sif chuckled. "I knew this guy, he used to say if you went topside you could just fall off the world." Duncan laughed at that and she nodded. "Well, it made sense to me at the time! I mean, why else would we live underground when most of the food is up here? He said you had to hold on with your feet."

Duncan stumbled, trying to maintain a serious demeanor. He eventually gave up and burst into laughter. "With your _feet_?" he finally managed. "I don't think I've heard that one before, and I've known more than a few of the Dwarva in my years."

"Maybe the other castes know already," she said. "We don't hear much in Dust Town." He sobered at that, nodding. She had realized Duncan became extremely uncomfortable whenever the caste system was mentioned. He knew the king, though. Knowing someone at the top and someone at the bottom had to screw with your mind. "But I was trying to do that," she went on, hoping to cheer him up. "And… then it hit me: I was going to fall off the world it could happen when I was asleep, too." She paused. "And _then_ I figured out that there wasn't much way for me to hold on with my feet in _boots_." Sif grinned. "I've been wandering around with my socks scrunched up between my toes for weeks, thinking it would keep me from flying off into the sky! Can you believe that? If it wasn't so funny I'd feel pretty stupid." She paused, letting Duncan laugh again. "By the way," Sif added, "you think anyone at that big camp might have some spare socks? I've worn right through mine."

When he nodded, laughing again, Sif smiled.

_Humans aren't that bad_, she mused. Less strange than the _mages_, at any rate. That was still her most uncomfortable experience since arriving on the surface. She had figured out just enough to understand that there were humans, elves, and mages on the surface, and they were all very different things. Although she hadn't met many elves so far, humans were, from what she had gathered, not entirely different from dwarves. They didn't look at her strangely, at least, and what was even better, none of them seemed to know or care about what the brand on her face meant.

A few had even seemed impressed when they learned she was going to be a Grey Warden. One innkeeper, who seemed to recognize Duncan, even called her Ser Warden.

_That_ would take some getting used to.

**Denerim**

Jowan wrung his hands nervously, glancing around. He had never, to his knowledge, been to any city, and now he wasn't just in a city: he was in the largest city in Ferelden. There was no mistaking Denerim, even for someone who had been raised in the tower, though. He had seen drawings of Fort Drakon in books of Ferelden history before, there was nothing else quite like it in the country.

When he realized that was their destination, his initial excitement over seeing the capital turned to fear. For a moment he thought they would execute him publicly in some garish spectacle. He wasn't led to the cells, though, but rather through a series of hallways to what seemed to be a waiting room. When his captors went through a door, a guard in heavy armor nodded politely and gestured to a chair. He would, occasionally, speak to someone when the door opened a crack.

"They'll be ready for you soon, Ser Mage," the guard said eventually.

_Ser Mage?_ Jowan had to suppress a snort of laughter at the bizarre term of respect. The templar had been left at a large estate near the center of the city, Jowan didn't know who lived there but he suspected it was someone important by the size of the place. The guard who had split off from the group escorting him along with the templar walked in and, after a brief nod, slipped through the doorway.

He was starting to relax. Jowan realized this with a start when he had actually gotten up from his chair to browse through a bookshelf against a nearby wall. Relaxing was, at the moment, probably not the best idea. It was just as well, the books were all dense looking volumes, with titles like _Naval Strategies of the Nevarran Fleet, Training Techniques of the Orzammar Warrior Caste, _and _Magic against Science on the Tevinter/Qunari Front._ Well, the last _did_ sound like something he would enjoy. With a glance over his shoulder at the guard, who gave him a dismissive wave of his hand, he pulled it down and returned to his chair.

He was already on the third chapter, which theorized that the famed explosives of the Qunari were nothing more than their attempt to duplicate the power of the magisters without actually using mages, when the inner door was thrown open. "I see you can read," said a vaguely annoyed sounding man.

Snapping to attention, Jowan nearly fell over as he tried to stand up quickly. He had been so engrossed in the book that he had actually pulled his feet up onto the chair. Looking up, he had two thoughts. The first was that he had never seen someone look so _imposing_ in nothing more than leather pants and a doublet.

The second was that he _knew_ this man.

Staring intently, he tried desperately to determine where they had met before. He wasn't a templar. He wasn't a mage. For a brief moment Jowan wondered if the man was his father… the coloring fit, after all, and it had been a _long_ time. But no, his father was shorter, and didn't look like he was in peak fighting condition even when he was a young man. The person in front of him looked more than capable of picking up a sword if needed.

_Picking up a... _"Maker's breath!" Jowan gasped, jaw hanging open for a moment. He _had_ seen the man before. Seen him dozens, hundreds, maybe even thousands of times, and each time he was holding a sword. The only reason he hadn't realized it earlier was because paintings, as a rule, don't _age_. A young man was pictured fighting the Orlesians alongside the late King Maric and Queen Moira, and he would be a young man for as long as that painting in the tower library existed. "You're Teyrn Loghain!" When the man groaned, an apparent acknowledgement that he was correct, Jowan dropped into a rough bow. "Um… your…. Lord-ness?" he said after a moment of deliberation, realizing he hadn't the faintest idea how nobles were supposed to be addressed.

"Damned Circle," came the reply. "Can't they at least make some effort to prepare you people for the real world? _Lordness?_ Really? Is that even a _word_?"

"Um…no, it's not," Jowan admitted. "Sorry, ser."

He sighed again. "It's _your grace_, but don't call me that. You can call me General Mac Tir, or Ser. Now stop groveling and come in." Jowan nodded, shuffling after him. The Teyrn sat down behind a desk and gestured at the door. Jowan closed it and stood across from him. "Sit," he said. "We have very little time and much to discuss."

**Redcliffe**

Duncan was speaking with a bearded man. She had only seen a glimpse of him before the door was shut, and now again as it opened. She had been left to sit quietly in a hall while they spoke, and was happier for it. Going with Duncan on his various errands as they made their way south was one thing, actually joining him to speak to these important people seemed well beyond what she was capable of. In truth, he always hesitated before they approached some enormous castle or manor, very briefly. She suspected Duncan wasn't any more comfortable with the idea than she was.

Kicking her legs on the high bench, she sharpened her daggers to kill time. A woman in fine clothes poked her head out, eyes narrowing at the sight of a dwarven woman with a whetstone in her hall. Expecting to be yelled at, Sif set the stone aside quickly. The woman only ignored her, though.

"Come along, Conner," she called to someone unseen. "Your new tutor will be here in a few days, we need to talk."

A little boy ran from one room towards the voice, hair sticking up in the front, and was gone around a corner.

The door beside her opened and she forgot about the momentary distraction of the child. "The king is young, he's too impulsive." That was an unfamiliar voice.

"True as that may be, I will try and encourage him to wait," Duncan replied.

Sif rolled her eyes. _Sodding surfacers_, she thought to herself as it became clear yet another attempt to gain allies against the darkspawn had failed. What could they be doing that was so vital he couldn't send his toops now, she wondered. Nothing came to mind. They weren't being attacked, and there were darkspawn: the response seemed painfully obvious.

It was almost as though no one really believed Duncan. Even if they did, it seemed like they didn't much _care._ It seemed like no one really believed in darkspawn, or understood how dangerous they were.

While she didn't _want_ them to learn better… it seemed pretty clear they would, and quickly.

She didn't feel bad at all for slipping a few tiny, valuable looking trinkets into her pockets before they left.

**Bannorn**

Jowan clung to a stack of books nervously, glancing around. He was in a coach, an actual _coach_, on his way to Redcliffe. Taking a breath, he glanced out the window again at the unchanging countryside. _Stop worrying,_ he tried to tell himself. _You're doing a service for your country_.

Having had no idea what to expect from meeting Teyrn Loghain, Jowan couldn't exactly claim the request was unexpected. _Anything _would have been unexpected, shy of orders to kill himself for the good of Ferelden.

"_There is a traitor among the nobility,_" he had said almost as soon as Jowan was seated.

"_I'm sorry,"_ Jowan had replied, still not sure what this had to do with him.

"_You should be," _came the reply. _"It's a sad day for us all when someone from a line of such true patriots decides to betray his nation." _Jowan had only nodded, still on uneasy footing. The man seemed to be speaking more to himself at that point, anyways. The teyrn sighed heavily. _"I have recently learned that this man's son has shown signs of magical ability. His wife has been less than… discrete, as she hopes for an apostate to train him."_

Without realizing it, Jowan narrowed his eyes, contempt almost choking him. While he had always _suspected_ that was the way of things, that the Circle and the templars and all of the pain that went along with them, were reserved for the common people, while nobility found a way around the rules as always, hearing such flat confirmation made him enraged.

"_You do not approve?"_ Loghain had asked him, the faint hint of a smile at one corner of his mouth. He seemed to misunderstand.

"_No commoner could get away with that_," Jowan said flatly.

"_Probably not," _Loghain agreed. _"We're not Orlais, but there are two sets of rules here, as with anywhere."_

"_It's not right."_ He almost groaned as the words left his mouth. _Stop __**whining**__, Jowan!_

"_It's not."_ That reply was accompanied by a shrug. _"But this time, it is to our advantage. All of Ferelden's advantage."_

With that, he set out a plan. Jowan would be the apostate sent to save their child from the Circle of Magi. While there, he would slip a powder into the traitor's food or drink. Not a lot, just enough to take him 'out of the equation,' as the Teyrn put it. In exchange, Loghain would pull strings to keep Jowan safe. Let him go back to the Circle, or another Circle… that was the implication. While… not ideal, it seemed clear the man wasn't about to simply let him go _free_.

It was better than death, though. He might be able to get out again. It had happened before… he could even run away once he made it to Redcliffe.

"_Will you do this for your country, mage?" _Loghain stared at him, eyes as pale as his own but far, far colder glaring across the desk.

Without a word, Jowan nodded.

What choice did he have?

**The Imperial Highway**

Sif watched the others on the road carefully. It was the perfect opportunity for someone to make a good bit of coin. Too many people, and every single one of them was distracted and occupied with their worries about what waited for them at the end of the road. She reached back, checking once more to ensure her weapons were still in place.

It took several days of traveling like this, waking every morning and carefully taking inventory of her meager possessions, before she realized she was likely the only person who saw a group marching to war as a pickpocket's bonanza.

Considering that as they walked on, towards the ever-larger white towers, she realized that probably said more about her than anything else.

Arriving at Ostagar was a blur. She met the king, who seemed absolutely _thrilled_ to speak with her, for reasons she couldn't understand. When he asked about the King of Orzammar Sif realized he must have mistaken her for someone far more important than she actually was. Probably thought she was warrior caste or something. He could have used a few Orzammar warriors, she soon realized, from the way he talked about the darkspawn as nothing more than a chance for glory.

After that Duncan basically sent her off to hunt for one specific human in a camp entirely full of humans and find something to eat. She decided to avoid thinking about his vague comments about some 'ritual' she would need to participate in.

The food was easily accomplished, at least. Surface food had strong smells, and she just followed them. Finding the human, less so.

There seemed to be several distinct groups. The first had tattoos on their faces and dogs. They were surprisingly polite, even moreso when they realized she wasn't a surface dwarf. Well, she _was_ , technically, at this point. But not surface-born, and that did seem to be a major deciding factor.

Finding someone selling armor was a pleasant surprise. In exchange for several of the objects she had pocketed in their travels Sif received a new set of light armor, new boots, and a pile of new socks. The armor wasn't as covering as her old handmade gear, but much nicer. The man selling it said something about enchantments, apparently that was why she didn't have to worry about having all her skin covered. And it _was_ easier to move around in.

Walking off, she noticed a man who, for some bizarre reason, reminded her of Leske. He had the same dark hair and pale eyes, the same ineffective way of flirting, and if she wasn't mistaken, the same kind of lockpicks in a pouch on his belt.

After watching him fail at enticing a young woman, she was surprised he turned to her next. Instead of a pickup line, though, he just said "well, you're not what I expected."

"Oh yeah?" she replied, wondering why he would have expected her at all.

"You're the last recruit, right?" he said. "I'm Daveth. We've been waiting for you an' Duncan to get back."

Sif nodded, not surprised. In the camp there was no denying she stood out: if he had been expecting a Warden recruit from Orzammar there were no other likely prospects. All the other dwarves she had seen were busy repairing weapons and armor.

Asking how he had met Duncan, she grinned as Daveth told her of his attempt to pickpocket the Warden Commander. "He's faster than he looks!"

"I bet," she replied before sharing her own story. "Must have a thing for street rats, too." She had to admit, there was a certain appeal to the idea. Being surrounded by others with pasts as checkered as her own… well, they wouldn't look down on her for being nothing more than a thug.

"I guess so," Daveth laughed. "This Joining thing, though… well, if I had anywhere but a death sentence waiting for me, I might not stick around for it. The whole thing is really…"

"Yeah," she agreed. "Secretive. Makes me think he's hiding something bad. Like, real bad."

She nodded, waving as he went off to meet up with Duncan after managing to get a joke about watching her back in. Following the directions Daveth had given her, she found a blonde man in armor arguing with a man in a dress.

_Oh good, more mages_, Sif thought, bracing herself for another question about life in Orzammar. He didn't seem to notice her, or care, though. After the argument was finished the mage pushed past her, leaving Sif with the blonde in armor.

He was, like most people, polite to her. More than polite, really… he was _friendly_. And _cheerful_. She didn't think she had ever met someone quite so cheerful. "Did you meet the others?" Alistair asked as they walked back across the camp.

"I met Daveth," she said.

"Right… the cutpurse," he said, face twisting slightly. "No idea what Duncan sees in him."

Smile crashing, she could only follow him back to Duncan in silence.

* * *

_Guess who spilled another glass of water on her laptop and lost almost-done chapters to not one but three stories? If you guessed me... you'd be right!_  
_Thanks for reading and reviewing... so sorry about how long it's been since I updated.  
Also... Sif and Jowan art... right here! http : / fav. me / d3h6k5q  
_


	6. No idea how colorful he said it was

**Ostagar**

Although Sif had briefly entertained notions of an order composed entirely of reformed criminals and thugs, Alistair had smashed that hope. His offhand comment about Daveth would have made that more than clear alone. However, he also gave her a brief rundown of his own background, chattering away cheerfully as they went to find the final recruit. Alistair had, apparently been training to be some kind of religious warrior; a Templar, he called it. Sif hadn't the faintest idea what a Templar was, though, beyond seeing them at the tower full of mages.

"You were going to be a... Mage jailkeep?" she had asked, trying to show off the bits and pieces of surface life she had picked up.

"What?" he said, sounding horrified. "No! It... It's not a JAIL, first off. And there's s lot more to being a Templar than just guarding the tower."

Alistair sounded offended, so she apologized. "We don't have your chantry in Orzammar."

At that, _he_ apologized. "Sorry, I knew you were new to the surface, I don't know why I expected you to know that."

"No, it's all right," Sif said quickly. "I need to learn this stuff. I live up here now, right?" She paused, shaking her head. "I guess I'm a surface dwarf now."

"Is that a bad thing?" he sounded genuinely curious. "I don't know much about Orzammar."

"Sort of?" she said. "It's pretty low. But really, not as low as I was before I left. Guess I can't complain."

"Well, you'll like being a Warden," he said. "And the worst part should be old hat to you." Sif looked up with confusion. "Well, you must have faced darkspawn before, being from Orzammar."

"Never fought darkspawn," she admitted as they looked around the camp. Flicking her eyes in his direction she smiled innocently. "City guards, mostly."

He flushed a deep red. It had, of course, been her goal. "Oh!" Alistair said, clearly surprised. "I suppose your background is more... colorful than Duncan let on in his letter."

"Dunno," she replied. "No idea how colorful he said it was in his letter to compare."

When they found the last recruit, a man who introduced himself as Ser Jory, he mused aloud about both dwarves and women being allowed into the Grey Wardens. "It isn't common," Alistair said, "but both are welcome, and have usually served with great distinction." She didn't know if that was true, or just something he said to make her feel better and make up for his earlier comments. In either case, though, it worked.

"Are you afraid to fight darkspawn?" she asked the man as they walked back to Duncan.

He looked nervous. "My mother used to tell us the darkspawn would come and drag away children who misbehaved. It's silly but… I can't get that out of my mind."

Sif chuckled at that. "I guess mothers everywhere like that one. But mine used to say she'd feed us to them if we were bad."

After a moment she realized Jory was trying to fall back. When she slowed her pace, allowing Alistair to walk further ahead, the taller man leaned over. "Has anyone told you about this joining ritual?" he whispered. "Alistair won't tell us anything."

"Only that it's dangerous," she admitted. "Daveth thinks we're going into the Wilds."

He looked disturbed by this. "I didn't expect more tests." Sif didn't reply. She heard he had won some kind of proving to get here. All she had done was get arrested.

**Redcliffe**

Jowan wanted to find himself shocked by the friendliness of the Arl of Redcliffe and his family. He had hoped they would welcome him with open arms and speak to him, if not as an equal, than as a person.

He realized, after several days there, that he had to stop putting his energy into ridiculous hopes and dreams. The Arl, fortunately, ignored him. The other servants and staff spoke of him in hushed and frightened tones, shying away in the halls and rushing to meals so no one would have to take a seat next to him.

The arlessa was perhaps the worst, though. She called him 'mage' and sneered openly at his approach. "Work quickly," she said. "I want my son to hide all traces of this curse as soon as possible. I will not live surrounded by magic!"

Jowan managed to keep his mouth shut at that, although the temptation to point out that he would be a mage for the rest of his life, regardless of how much money and power they threw at the problem, was near-overwhelming. He knew how utterly useless that would be. Useless at best, at worst it could end very badly for him.

Besides, he would do nearly anything to avoid listening to the arlessa speak. She had a voice that could shatter glass.

At least his student was pleasant enough. Jowan grew to enjoy spending time with the young boy, teaching him the simplest spells and methods to control his emotions and keep his magic in check. Conner was an eager student, cheerfully accepting his lessons, asking questions, and paying rapt attention. He wasn't just eager to please his mother: it seemed the boy had a genuine interest in learning.

It was, to his surprise, a pleasant life. Jowan had freedom to roam the estate and grounds, so he often woke early just to watch the sunrise outside. Reading outside, something he had dreamed of for many years looking through the tower windows, turned out to be an overrated fantasy. The wind was constantly trying to turn his pages at inopportune moments, bugs would crawl on him and the book and really, when it came down to it, dirt wasn't nearly as comfortable as a nice chair. It didn't stop him from reading outside whenever the weather was nice, but he was starting to admit that the reality didn't quite live up to expectations. _Just as well_, he thought one day, shifting so he could pull a rock out from under himself, _I don't deserve to be comfortable_.

It was easy to fall into the life of a tutor, blend in with the controlled chaos of a large estate. He could pretend he belonged. Indeed, he was enjoying being a teacher so much that it was easy to forget the real reason he had been sent to Redcliffe. It was only when his thoughts drifted back to Lily, as they often would, and he felt that rush of grief and shame as his memory of the last moments in the tower played out that Jowan remembered the reason for his reprieve.

The small glass vial, tucked away among his belongings, was still waiting for him. Loghain had told him to build up trust first, to let the Arl and Arlessa relax around him. He had figured out after the first week that even earning the trust granted to the lowest scullery made was unlikely given years with them, much less mere weeks.

He had to act.

It was simple enough. Jowan had been given use of the library for the academic portion of Conner's lessons. Every evening the Arl retired to his library where he enjoyed a drink and went through the day's paperwork. His schedule was like clockwork, all Jowan had to do was arrive early one morning.

The decanter sat on a sideboard. Uncapping it, the smell of liquor hit Jowan's face. A glance over his shoulder assured him that the room was still empty, the door still shut. With a sigh, he pulled a small glass vial from a pocket, quickly removing the cork.

Jowan moved his arm to empty the vial, pausing. Hand hovering over the decanter he closed his eyes, taking a breath. Opening his eyes once more, he emptied the vial.

The powder seemed to dissolve instantly, but Jowan picked up the decanter, swirling it, just to be safe.

"Done," he whispered.

**Ostagar**

_So that's a darkspawn,_ Sif thought, suppressing a face. It seemed odd she would see one for the first time up here, but she didn't want to mention that out loud. _Everyone_ seemed to assume she was some kind of dwarven darkspawn expert, and since Alistair saw no reason to correct them, neither did she.

"Monsterous," her fellow recruit, a knight, said. Everyone but Alistair seemed frozen in horror.

_Pretend this is normal,_ Sif reminded herself. Hoping she looked like someone who fought darkspawn every weekend, she grinned with false bravado. "Come on," she shouted, "everything dies!"

Rushing forward, she began swinging. One blade caught a genlock across the throat, spraying her with black ichor. The other opened a hurlock's stomach, spilling his innards across the dirt.

That, it seems, was all it took to push her fellow recruits into action. Not wanting to be outdone by a woman, or perhaps shamed by a dwarf, both men rushed forward, hollering battle cries.

Their assignment seemed easy enough. Go into the woods, kill darkspawn, bring back some blood.

"Why blood?" she asked Alistair.

"It… it's part of the joining. Tradition," he said, looking like there was quite a bit more to the story.

"Yeaaah," she said, eyebrows raised. "It doesn't sound like you're hiding anything at all. Nope."

"Sorry," came the reply.

"Don't apologize, just tell me."

"I can't," he said. "Sorry. You'll find out soon enough, though."

"Creepy," Daveth commented.

"Admit it," Sif said, poking Alistair in the chest, "you guys are planning to knock us out and sell our teeth."

"Your…" he shook his head. "Is that even something people _do_?"

"Yep," she replied. "Happened all the time back home."

He started to say something, raising a hand and shaking his head before any words escaped. "Nevermind," Alistair said. "Let's just finish up out here. We have to get the treaties and head back before dark."

No one could find an argument with that. Duncan had told them to hunt down some long abandoned, long rotted fortress and find three bits of paper inside of it. How they would manage such a thing, she had no idea, but he seemed completely confident it would work.

"Yeah, I don't like the idea of hanging around out here after dark," Daveth observed, looking around.

Sif found she agreed completely. At first the surface had been easier to deal with at night, without that sun beating down, hurting her eyes and turning her skin a painful pink. It didn't take long for her to realize there was a reason surfacers picked the bright hours for their awake time, and the dark ones to bunker down. On the road south Duncan had mentioned bandits, out here Sif realized being mugged was the least of her worries.

**Redcliffe**

Jowan woke with a start, so disoriented he briefly forgot where he even was. Taking a few deep breaths to get his heart under control, he could make out the sound of screaming.

_Oh, that can't be good,_ he mused, already stumbling around looking for something to put on. His first thought was of the darkspawn, that they had somehow found their way as far north as Redcliffe and were attacking.

The Arl had been unconscious for over two weeks now. It would be an unmitigated disaster if the darkspawn descended on the village with no one but the Arlessa in charge. Through castle gossip Jowan had heard the Arl's younger brother, Bann Teagen, was on his way. Several of the maids seemed almost inappropriately excited by this, giggling whenever the man's name came up.

He had not arrived yet, though. For now the castle was running itself, with the Arlessa rarely leaving her husband's side, spending her days holding his head up as she spooned small amounts of water and broth into his mouth. Jowan's stomach twisted with guilt whenever he happened to pass her in the hall, seeing her red-rimmed eyes and knowing he was the ultimate cause of the family's suffering. His daily lessons with Connor were even worse. His pupil's eyes were haunted, dark circles growing day by day. Lethargic and despondent, the boy would ask repeatedly why Jowan couldn't heal his father.

In truth, Jowan had tried. From the moment the Arl fell sick his guilt had been near-overwhelming. After a week of sleepless nights he did try, hoping to some way make up for the damage. It would mean forfeiting any aid from the Teyrn, but that was starting to seem more like justice. He hadn't earned anything resembling freedom or forgiveness when Loghain contacted him, and he certainly wouldn't deserve it now that it seemed murder would be added to his list of sins.

Slipping in to the bedroom when the night guard was asleep at his post, he tried a few healing spells. Spells for illness, spells for infection, spells for purification, even spells designed to draw out poisons. Nothing worked. Weather the Teyrn's powder was too potent for magic, or Jowan was simply too weak a mage, he didn't know. Really, in the end, it didn't matter which it was. Jowan couldn't undo the damage he had caused.

And now, it seems, the whole village would pay the price in the form of darkspawn.

A glance out the window told him that this was, perhaps, even worse.

A fog of magic, green and sinister, seemed to envelop the village. People seemed to be fighting in the streets. As he watched, a man was killed while he banged at the castle gates for entry. His attacker turned away with disinterest and, to Jowan's complete horror, the victim stood up to follow only a moment later, stomach still hanging open from the blow that killed him.

"_Maker," _Jowan gasped.

He could hear the Arlessa screaming in the halls. "_Connor!"_ she shouted, _"Something is wrong with Connor!"_

Suddenly it all clicked into place.

Rushing into the hallway, he realized that someone else had made that connection as well. "You!" Arlessa Isolde screamed, pointing at him. "This is _your_ fault. We were fine until you came here with your _magic_!" She gestured to a guard. Before Jowan could realize what was happening he saw a shield flash as it caught the light of a wall torch. After that, only darkness.

**Ostagar**

"What's that," she called after they had been wandering far too long.

"It… I think that may be it," Alistair agreed. "Maker, not much left of the place, is there?"

"Suppose that would only depend on how much there was to begin with," Daveth laughed. "Maybe they built it to look like a pile of rocks and trash?"

Sif chuckled with him. "They don't build them like they used to," she said, quoting a phrase the Artisan caste had always been fond of.

"True enough," Daveth agreed.

Stumbling through the ruins, eventually Jory came upon an old chest. "This could be it," he called. He sounded very hopeful. It was an improvement, he had sounded very afraid up until then. Of course, he didn't seem eager to actually _touch_ the chest.

"Fine," Sif muttered, kicking it open. Not sure what a treaty could possibly look like, she glanced inside. "No treaties."

"What?" Alistair said, disbelief in his voice. "Are you sure?"

"Is this a treaty?" she asked, holding part of the chest's contents up.

"Those are leaves, Sif."

"This?"

"That's an acorn."

"This one, then?"

"Maker!" he jumped back when she tossed the final object at him. "That's a dead squirrel."

"All right," she said. "I didn't think any of those were treaties. Thanks for backing me up."

"You could have just _said_ what was in there!" he said, still sounding horrified. "You didn't have to start tossing dead animals around."

"I didn't know what any of them were called," she pointed out. "Acorn. That's food, right?"

"Only if you're unlucky," Daveth said, sitting down against a fallen pillar. "So, what now, fearless leader?"

Alistair sighed, pushing his hair back although it hadn't actually moved. "I don't know," he admitted. "I guess we go back, tell Duncan we couldn't find them."

"Well, well," came a new voice. "What have we here?"

A very pretty woman, wearing very little clothing, was strolling into the ruins of the tower. Sif tensed to hear the woman call them thieves.

Up until that point she had been enjoying the thought that she would never be called a thief again.

"The Grey Wardens owned this tower!"

The woman scoffed. "'Tis a tower no longer!"

Well, she had a point there.

"I cannot _believe_ we are doing this," Alistair said not long after, while the four of them stomped through puddles and over fallen logs, trying to keep up with the dark-haired woman.

"What?" Sif said. "Her mother has the treaties. We need the treaties."

"But she's a witch!" He shook his head. "We don't all have your dwarven resistance to magic!"

"Well, you're not dwarves," Sif replied. "Unlucky for you. Come on, mage-hunter. She's been helpful. Don't get your smalls in a twist."

Alistair sighed. "You don't find her a little… strange?"

Sif only laughed. "Ask me what I _don't_ think is strange," she replied. "The list would be shorter!"


End file.
